


resonance

by slexenskee (Sambomaster)



Series: HOME / [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: I think I accidentally drowned myself in it, M/M, So much domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sambomaster/pseuds/slexenskee
Summary: It is on an unsuspecting, warm autumn morning that Cepheus Perseus Potter— or Flynn Potter, as he is more commonly referred to as— goes to his first day of Wizarding primary school.





	resonance

It is on an unsuspecting, warm autumn morning that Cepheus Perseus Potter— or Flynn Potter, as he is more commonly referred to as— goes to his first day of Wizarding primary school.

 

To Harry’s lack of surprise, the public fallout was explosive. 

 

But Harry had brought this upon himself, really. Disappearing from the wizarding world without a trace, leaving rumors and all sorts of gossip in his wake - only to return years later with a child in tow. And he did, after all, make the conscious decision to let Flynn call him ‘mum’ - a decision he still doesn’t quite know why he made. It was just… it was his first word - no surprise there, his preschool teachers all said it was normally every child’s first word. But it was the way he had looked up so adoringly at Harry with his arms outstretched as he said it, so conclusively and honestly with the pure adoration only a young child could conjure; Harry didn’t have the heart to correct him.

 

More to the point, the press had already gotten a hold of leaked documents from St. Mungo’s, where he was listed as the child bearer— he could only be thankful he was the  _ only  _ parent listed. Merlin only knew how much worse it would be if  _ that  _ particular secret came out. 

 

Harry supposed he would just have to live with his own choices. He could have convinced St. Mungo’s to keep the whole thing covered up and list him as the father. He could have changed both their last names, too, but that seemed too excessive. Not to mention, he wouldn’t want Flynn to grow up as he had— completely ignorant to his family history. 

 

At any rate, Flynn takes to the attention quite poorly. He’s skittish and shy among crowds and new people on the best of days, so Harry can’t help but take pity on him. The moment the first year roster was leaked the Wizarding World had swept itself up into a tabloid frenzy. The elusive celebrity Harry Potter returns with his five year old son, after disappearing without a trace! Harry can at least privately admit it’s no surprise such a headline was selling off the stands. Unfortunately, he knew his inevitable return would be the hit journalistic goldmine of the year.

 

It was half the reason he had finally decided to reach out to Voldemort. He couldn’t imagine the man’s reaction if he found out about Flynn the way everyone else had - through the newspapers. Not that Harry owed the man anything. 

 

And at least now he knows, and that’s one less thing Harry has to worry about, in the face of this whole mess.

 

Flynn’s first day of school passes in a chaotic and endless attempt at damage control. The school wards are adjusted so that no one but students, teachers, and their parents can enter the premises without explicit permission, and that was only after one particularly enthusiastic paparazzi attempted to scale the garden wall. It didn’t stop the newspapers from flocking towards the gate the whole day, waiting for people to come in and out. 

 

Flynn’s teacher said he spent the whole day listless and subdued, and he spent all of recesses hiding inside one of the playground tunnels. That doesn’t sound all that abnormal, although usually at this point Flynn would have started to feel comfortable with his classmates and teachers, and would have maybe flashed a smile or two. When Harry comes to pick him up at the end of the day - after battling his way through the throngs of cameras at the front gate - it looks as if he hasn’t smiled once all day.

 

Fortunately the staff allow them to use the private floo network, and give them the address so Harry can use it to take Flynn to school everyday. He’ll have to somehow find a way to get them in and out of the Leaky Cauldron everyday though, since his apartment isn’t connected to the floo and apparating is bad for small children.

 

The moment they get home Flynn drops his backpack and crawls under the table, grabbing for Apples. Apples is not pleased with the attention, but even that ornery snake must be able to read the atmosphere, for he doesn’t grumble too much.

 

Meanwhile, Harry frets about in the kitchen, feeling awful.

 

Flynn’s first day in the Wizarding World was a disaster. 

 

Harry had half expected this, but he hadn’t realized how intense the whole ordeal would be—  not just for him, but for Flynn. He wonders how much of all this the boy really understands. Harry had attempted to explain his situation in the Wizarding World once or twice to the boy, but had never done the subject justice. Eventually he’d just given up on it as too complicated, tabling it for when the boy was a bit older. 

 

Although at the moment,  _ everything  _ was too complicated.

 

Flynn, the Wizarding World, Harry’s entire life -  _ Tom.  _

 

Harry didn’t even want to think about  _ that  _ in particular. 

 

Harry turns the stove on, deciding he may as well cook dinner while he’s sitting in here freaking out. None of those issues are going to solve themselves any time soon, so he’ll simply have to weather out the storm and take them one at a time.

 

(Or maybe, as Harry’s luck would have it, they would solve themselves.)

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Harry sighs down at the little form clinging to his pant legs, feeling as if he’s failed at parenting somehow. 

 

Flynn’s mood does not improve even as they hurriedly scurry out of the Leaky Cauldron before anyone can notice them there, escaping out into Muggle London. He breathes a sigh of relief as they blend in easily with all the muggles milling about, on their mobile phones and brushing past them without a second glance, oblivious to the young, woefully ill-equipped parent and his equally young charge.

 

“I’m sorry you had a bad day at school, Flynn,” he says quietly, as he totes the boy in his arms. 

 

Flynn sniffles in a way that could have meant anything.

 

Harry sighs again. 

 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

 

He’d thought this craze would have settled with the passing of time, but it’s been almost a month and there’s been no significant change. Harry is at a loss. What should he do? He can’t hold a press conference, he can’t do interviews— he can’t  _ tell  _ anyone  _ anything.  _ He knows what they’re going to ask, and he can’t answer those questions. He can’t tell them why he left, he can’t tell them who Flynn’s father is, and he can’t tell them why he’s stayed away this long. 

 

He can only hold out a distant hope that this might blow over eventually.

 

He’s not so concerned over himself as he is for Flynn. This attention is annoying, but no worse than it ever has been his entire life. But the poor kid is so young, he doesn’t understand anything. All he knows is that there are all these people shouting at him, and jumping out at him trying to get his attention, and scaring him, and yelling at him, and he doesn’t know why. 

 

Harry rubs his temples. 

 

He’d turned down every offer he’s gotten so far to move— at least temporarily— but at this point he’s wondering if he should revise his decision. The Weasley’s have asked him— multiple times— to move to the Burrow while he’s still getting everything sorted out; Fred and George have asked if he wanted to stay with them; Ron had offered (sort of), and Hermione called him every day asking if he’s changed his mind. It’s not as if he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment, or that he’s not grateful— he just knows what will happen if he accepts. They all live in the wizarding world; they don’t have the security of anonymity muggle London provides. The press will seize the opportunity to move their stake out from just the outskirts of the school and the Leaky Cauldron and start posting outside of the house, harassing them just as much if not more than they harass Harry and Flynn. 

 

And Harry can’t put his friends and family through that. 

 

He can’t be a bother again. 

 

He’s never been anything but a burden on everyone his entire life and he doesn’t want to start that again.

 

He shakes his head, stirred out of his thoughts when Flynn makes a tired, unhappy noise and burrows deeper against his shoulder.

 

He had wanted to take Flynn to the park this afternoon, hoping an hour or two tiring himself out on a swing set might improve his mood, but it looked as if the weather was against him today. Dark storm clouds have made the London skyline gloomier than usual, denoting the inevitable presence of rain showers.

 

Harry spies a Tesco across the street from them, struck with an idea.

 

“Hey, Flynn,” he murmurs quietly, rubbing the boy’s back, “what do you think of baking cookies today?”

 

Flynn stirs reluctantly. “Cookies?” He mumbles.

 

“Sugar cookies,” Harry adds, hoping to excite him. “Your favorite. We can buy cookie cutters and make shapes and decorate them. How does that sound?”

 

He’s worried even this won’t work when the boy doesn’t respond immediately. “Can we make Apples some?” He asks, sounding a bit more interested.

 

Harry smiles slightly. “We can try.” He doubts the snake will care much for anything that hasn’t been bathed in the blood of mice, but they can at least offer.

 

Flynn nods then. “Okay.” 

 

They walk into the grocery store and pick out a pack of pre-cut, processed sugar cookies that are more than likely terrible for human consumption but have Disney characters on them which immediately make them Flynn’s first choice, a pint of chocolate milk, and icing and sprinkles.

 

Flynn seems to be in slightly better spirits, although he still looks a bit teary and sullen as they make their way to the apartment. Harry is incredibly unamused to arrive home and get an earful from his elderly neighbor on the ground floor, who complains about Krookshanks digging up her gardenias and leaving dead mice all over the sidewalk. Harry reluctantly grabs the offending animal in question by its scruff and hauls it back up the elevator, vowing to himself to start charming the windows shut, since it appears the half-kneazle knows how to pick the locks. 

 

Flynn has returned to hiding in Harry’s jumper after their mild tongue-lashing by Mrs. Finch; Harry leans back against the elevator wall, letting out a gusty sigh. Between Flynn, the press, his neighbors and Hermione’s damn cat, he wonders if this day can even get any worse. 

 

When he exits the elevator and sees Lord Voldemort waiting outside his apartment door, he decides that yes, yes it can.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

The dark lord drops the newspaper back on his desk, a look of disgust crossing his features. 

 

Vultures, all of them. He should have killed them all off while he had the chance. Freedom of press— who even needs that, anyway?

 

Harry looks grim and decidedly determined as he wades his way across the page, spearing through the crowds of reporters without giving them an ounce of his attention. It’s not Harry he’s all that worried about; the boy has surely been through worse, and at this point he’s no stranger to that sort of attention. The child, though…

 

He looks small and scared, huddled up against Harry’s shoulder, pressing his face into the boy’s neck as if he could hide from the world there. The press haven’t let up once; every single day they do this, to the endless irritation of the primary school staff. It’s the first of its kind— in Britain, anyway— and Flynn’s class is only the third class enrolled since it opened. As far as Voldemort remembers, it didn’t even have this kind of press on its opening day. Now, three years later, every wizard this side of France knows what it is. 

 

It’s been about a week without any change in the attention; he supposes it’ll blow over eventually as all headlines do. Whenever Granger manages to wrangle the senate into something presentable and gets that bill passed, they should have a new headline to flock to. Nothing stirs up public interest like political scandals, after all, and he’s sure one or two of those flighty politicians has been up to something scandalous. Perhaps he’ll have Weasley #3 dig around for something. Better yet, Weasley’s #4 and #5 - knowing them, they'd find a mystery wife, mistress, and drug scandal all at once.

 

Then he realizes what he’s doing, and scowls to himself. 

 

He’s told himself far too many times that Harry is no longer his problem, to the point he still wants to believe that. But after this past holiday, he’s not entirely sure how true that is. 

 

He’d told himself it wasn’t his place to get involved in their affairs. 

 

That didn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

 

He grabs his cloak and tells his secretary to forward everything to Lucius for the day. She gives him a frightened look in response, but nods furiously anyhow. She’s constantly terrified, but competent enough, so he thinks she might last longer than the other ones. She better— he hired a Gryffindor for that very reason. Aren’t they supposed to be brave and courageous, even in the face of their own death and/or unemployment? At any rate she is also too scared of him to ever think about talking to the press, so he’d keep her around just for that. 

 

Harry and Flynn are not home when he arrives at the entrance to their apartment. He folds his arms and scrutinizes the door with far more intensity than it warrants. It’s just a door. 

 

He’s not kept waiting long. Soon enough the elevator dings behind him. An exhausted looking Harry is carrying a sniffling little boy with one arm, an obscenely fat cat in the other, and a plastic grocery bag. 

 

He pauses mid way out of the elevator, simply staring. His eyes are wide and green; for some reason, seeing them in person again is oddly relieving, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying easing now that he could see with his own eyes that Harry was fine. 

 

“Hi,” Harry says, lamely.

 

The cat yowls in his hand. He drops the offensive fur ball with a hissed curse, glaring meanly at it before inspecting the long, deep scratch mark it left on his arm. It glares back, unrepentant. Then Harry sighs, shaking his head as he steps out of the elevator. The cat trails after him, nose upturned. The dark lord has no idea why all of Harry’s pets seem to hate him. 

 

“Were you waiting long?” Harry asks casually, as he opens the door. 

 

“No,” he answers shortly, stepping inside after Harry, irritable cat trotting at his heels. He looks down at it; it’s horrendously ugly, as if its face had been flattened by a frying pan. It stares back, hissing.

 

“Don’t mind Krookshanks,” Harry says, breezily, walking in front of him. “He hates everyone.” Harry rolls his eyes. “He also managed to escape— again.” Which would explain why Harry was all but dragging him up the elevator. 

 

From this angle he can see Flynn’s sorrowful expression, as he clings around Harry’s neck. His eyes are just as big and green as Harry’s - but also wet with tears. The boy doesn’t say anything, just observing him quietly. Voldemort wonders if he even remembers him.

 

Harry sets the boy down. Flynn immediately makes for the dining room table, scurrying underneath it. He hears a low, disgruntled hiss from beneath as Flynn finds the snake hiding under the table. 

 

Harry watches him hide with a sigh, looking forlorn and a little resigned. He drops his grocery bag on the kitchen counter. Then he turns back to him. “So, did you need something?”

 

Voldemort doesn’t respond at first, moving closer until he can grab the boy’s hand. Harry stares at him with an apprehensive look of confusion. He turns it over so he can inspect the scratch; it was deep enough to draw enough blood to trail down Harry’s arm and drip onto the floor. Harry looks down and curses when he realizes he’s bleeding all over the carpet. Voldemort raises his wand, silently mending the wound. It stitches itself back up cleanly, until not even a scar is left. After a moment of thought, he casts a quick cleaning charm on the carpet, Harry’s arm, and his soiled shirt. 

 

“Thanks,” Harry says, uneasily, as he withdraws his hand.

 

The dark lord merely nods. 

 

“That was so cool!” They both turn at the sudden exclamation, to see a small child holding an unhappy snake, poking his head out from underneath the table. His cheeks are still ruddy, but he seems to have forgotten about his dispirited mood in the face of some magic. 

 

He trots over with a curious look, raising on his tiptoes to peer at Harry’s arm. He turns to Voldemort. “How did you do that without magic?”

 

“That  _ was _ magic, Flynn,” Harry responds for him, gently.

 

Flynn’s brow furrows. “But he didn’t say a spell.” He retorts. 

 

And then, before Harry can respond; “The teacher at school says you use magic by casting spells, and spells are casted through wand movements and incantations.” He parrots from class earlier.

 

Harry blinks. “Well, that’s true…” He agrees after a beat, looking at a loss. It’s not as if that definition is  _ untrue, _ it’s just that…

 

“Some wizards and witches can cast spells without incantations or wand movements.” The dark lord finds himself explaining.

 

Flynn stares at him, looking skeptical. “Really?” 

 

Voldemort only tilts his head in response, before crouching down to the boy’s height. He holds out his hand. Flynn stares at it suspiciously. After a beat, the child slowly puts his hand over his own. The boy’s hand is so much smaller than his own, small and warm against his fingertips. He spares a brief, inane moment to wonder how small his hand must have been when he was first born. Probably so tiny he can’t even imagine it. There’s a beat of silence where nothing happens; then suddenly a dozen birds erupt from underneath the boy’s hand. He startles back in shock, pulling his hand away as they all shoot into the air in a flurry of white feathers and furiously beating wings. They make for the open window as Flynn stares at them in absolute delight, watching them fly off into the sky with a look of unadulterated amazement, utterly enchanted. Harry is not nearly as enchanted. In fact he is livid to see the window open at all, turning an accusing glare to the cat perched on the couch, cleaning his paws. 

 

“Whoa!” Flynn exclaims with wonder. “That was  _ totally _ wicked! Can you do that again?” He asks, excitedly, turning back to him with expectant eyes.

 

“Flynn,” Harry interrupts, “he’s not here to show you magic tricks.” And then, under his breath, “Although he _ is _ a total show off…”

 

The dark lord finds himself smiling at that, rising back to his full height. “Maybe later,” he tells the boy, consoling him slightly. 

 

Flynn pouts. Harry ruffles his hair. “Why don’t you go start on your homework, Flynn?”

 

Flynn gives him an aggrieved look. “Okay…” He agrees reluctantly, trudging towards the dining room table and his school bag as if he was part of a death procession. Apples looked equally as reluctant to return to him. 

 

Harry turns back to him once Flynn is a proper distance away. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

 

Voldemort frowns. “What question?”

 

Harry simply stares at him; his look is oddly impossible to read. “Why are you here?”

 

His tone is not particularly accusing, so maybe this is just the guilty feeling damned, but Voldemort feels like he’s being judged anyhow. He would deserve the scorn, at any rate. 

 

“You don’t have a floo here,” he starts, confusing Harry. 

 

The boy’s brow furrows. “So?”

 

“The primary school has a private floo,” he would know, considering he all but built the damn thing, “avoiding all this media furor would be infinitely easier if you used it.”

 

Harry gives him an unhappy look. “I’m well aware.” He grouses.

 

“Then why haven’t you moved?” He asks, startling the boy. 

 

Harry blinks at him. “Move to where?” He frowns.

 

“The Weasley’s would be my first assumption.” He replies. “You can’t tell me they haven’t offered.” Mainly because he already knew they had— Percy had already lamented on Harry’s stubbornness over the whole ordeal, proclaiming Harry was being an idiot for not just living with them. And for the first time, maybe ever, he found himself agreeing with a gryffindor. It was incredibly stupid of Harry; he was just being absurd.

 

Harry purses his lips, folding his arms. “Maybe I didn’t want to.” He retorts, stubborn as always. He’s lucky that mulish quality about him is oddly charming, or the dark lord would be hard pressed to start throwing some curses around for impertinence. 

 

Obviously he doesn’t do that, although from Harry’s defensive position it’s clear the boy thinks he will. What he does instead seems to blindside the boy entirely. 

 

“Stay with me,” it sounds less like a question and more like a demand. Mainly because it is. He’s not about to let Harry say no.

 

Harry’s mouth opens in surprise. His arms drop. “Excuse me?”

 

“At least for the duration of all this nonsense,” Voldemort continues, as if he hadn’t heard him. “There’s no reason to put not only yourself through this, but the boy as well.”

 

Harry looks as if he might argue the point, but something stops him right before the words come out, as if a part of him agrees. Instead he sighs, looking away. “I know. I just... didn’t want to inconvenience anyone,” he says, softly. 

 

For a moment, Voldemort thinks that’s ridiculous.

 

Does the boy really think his precious clan of insufferable redheads would feel that way about him? Or the abysmally unpunctual and disorganized Miss Granger? He has no doubt they would be leaping to help— in fact, he already knew they had.The muggle apartment unconnected to the Wizarding world made sense, but now that it was such a hindrance, he would have assumed Harry would have been swept away by an ecstatic crowd of redheads at this point. 

 

The idea of Harry being an inconvenience to them  _ is _ ridiculous— but Harry’s unfounded belief to the contrary is not nearly as nonsensical. 

 

He knows a bit too much about Harry’s past to dismiss his feelings as wholly unreasonable. 

 

“You’re not an inconvenience,” he replies, softly but resolutely. 

 

Harry’s eyes turn to him with surprise. Those striking green eyes always do funny things to him, but right now it seems to be magnified significantly so. 

 

He looks away for a moment, clearing his throat. “The snake is fine to join you,” he adds. “But that feral animal is staying here.” He narrows his eyes at the beast in question, loafing on the top of the couch cushions, one positively evil yellow eye cracked to stare him down with just as much disdain.

 

Harry smiles unwillingly at that. “Oh trust me, I would prefer it that way.” 

 

“I thought it was Miss Granger’s, anyway.”

 

“It is,” Harry agrees, drily. “Merlin knows why she moved into an apartment that doesn’t allow pets— but she assures me she’s looking for a new place soon.”

 

Knowing Granger, soon could mean anything from weeks to months. 

 

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.” 

 

It startles a laugh out of the boy. “I definitely am not.” He shakes his head. “Well, at the very least he scares away all the neighbors.” 

 

Harry peeks a glance at him, looking a bit distant. “Still though, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“You’re coming with me.” 

 

Harry blinks. He isn’t sure if that’s a statement or a question.  

 

Then Harry spares him a flat look. “I’m saying I don’t really think I should.”

 

“It wasn’t a request, Harry.” 

 

The boy is starting to look annoyed, but Voldemort is equally as annoyed. Why must the boy be so stubborn? 

 

Harry looks as if he has a cutting remark to say to that, but seems to refrain. Instead he sighs, running a wary hand through his hair. “Look, it’s nice of you to offer…” He trails off, expression complicated. “But… I don’t know. Moving— even temporarily— is going to be a herculean effort, and honestly, I don’t want to make things worse.”

 

The dark lord frowns, unused to having people deny him anything. “It wasn’t an offer.” he points out again, much to Harry’s visible displeasure. “I know if I give you any choice in the matter, you will weasel your way out of it. There’s no need to make such a big deal out of a small matter.”

 

Harry lets out a breath, ruffling his bangs that he had just attempted to smooth out of his eyes. “I think you’re underestimating the scale of difficulty, here.”

 

Tom remains unmoved. “And what, exactly, am I underestimating? You’re a wizard; you could neatly pack this whole place into a suitcase in a matter of minutes.”

 

Harry crosses his arms. “It’s not about the packing,” he rolls his eyes. 

 

“Then what is it?” He asks, genuinely at a loss. 

 

Harry shakes his head. “It’s just… Flynn doesn’t like new places,” he rushes to say. “Young children don’t take to change very well, Flynn especially, and all of this is already a big and stressful adjustment for him, and— and,” he flushes slightly. “If the press find out, it’ll probably make everything worse.”

 

Voldemort frowns deeper. “The press is inconsequential.” He points out. “I will deal with that.”

 

This does not reassure Harry in the least. “Murder is not the answer to everything.” He retorts, flatly.

 

“I wasn’t referring to offing them all off—  although clearly that would be the most effective manner to deal with them,” he replies calmly, causing Harry to snort under his breath. “The wards of my manor are more than enough to keep them out.” And then some. 

 

Harry still looks conflicted. 

 

The dark lord takes a breath, folding his arms. “As for the boy— I suppose that’s really up to your judgment.” Which is the closest he’ll ever get to admitting he’s not infallible and omnipotent. It is true, though; if there was ever a subject the dark lord was woefully ignorant in, it would be parenting. 

 

Harry still does not look convinced. 

 

“Regardless, it is not an inconvenience by any means,” he continues, softly. “I would not offer otherwise.”

 

Harry bites his lip. He glances towards Flynn with a difficult expression. Finally he sighs. “I’ll ask him— but I make no promises.” He warns. 

 

The dark lord nods. 

 

He walks over towards the table, where Flynn is at least attempting to start his homework. He has his books out, at least. For the most part he’s just chewing on his pencil and talking to Apples. The dark lord watches as Harry sits next to him, smoothing the hair out of his eyes with a casual, affectionate hand, speaking to him quietly. 

 

He doesn’t bother to go over there. Harry is clearly far better equipped for these kinds of conversations than he is. He even knows exactly how to phrase it; they’re going on an ‘adventure’, and Apples is going with them, and Flynn can bring his stuffed toys and Turtle (who is apparently delegated to a higher category than a mere ‘stuffed toy’) and his blanket. Flynn asks if Harry is coming too— Harry assures the child that he will be coming with him as well. This is apparently all that is needed to seal the deal.

 

Harry handles the child so easily, it almost makes him a tad bit envious. He has no reason to be envious, he reminds himself. Still the idea of Harry being a parent— and a good one, at that— is one he still hasn’t quite come to terms with, no matter how many times he’s reminded of it. 

 

“But what about the cookies?” Flynn exclaims. “How are we going to make the cookies?”

 

Harry falters slightly. “I’m sure we can make them there.” Harry says, soothingly. 

 

Flynn considers this seriously. “Okay. But what about duck and goose and bathtime?”

 

Harry blinks. “Um…”

 

“Can I pick out my PJ’s now?” Flynn presses. “What time are we leaving?”

 

Harry doesn’t look like he thought all that deeply about this at all; in his defense, neither did Voldemort. Fortunately he processes his shock quickly enough. “We can pack up whatever you want to bring. How does that sound?”

 

Flynn nods readily. “Sleepover!” He says, excited. 

 

Harry sighs in relief. Flynn has never been all that excited for sleepovers, or playdates, or anything that involves being too far away from Harry, really. He has a feeling the boy’s ecstatic excitement is really only because Harry and Apples are going with him. 

 

Harry, Apples, and practically _ everything _ in their house, apparently.

 

Flynn conveniently forgets all about his homework in favor of bounding over to his room to start packing. Harry gets up far more sedately, running a wary hand through his hair. He meets Tom’s gaze as Flynn starts lamenting to Apples about all the choices he has to make. 

 

Harry swallows thickly. “Are you sure it’s— 

 

Voldemort cuts him off with a nonplussed look. 

 

“It’s just—  it’s a lot.” Harry tries to explain, weakly. Voldemort doesn’t really understand just what it means to start taking care of a child, and it's not as if Harry expects him to or anything either. But that doesn’t negate the fact that it’s a lot more work than he most likely thinks it is. Everyday is a battle as far as small children are concerned. 

 

He waves vaguely to where Flynn has left the door to his room wide open, excited to pack up everything for his adventure.

 

“A lot of stuff?” Tom clarifies, looking amused.

 

Harry nods. “For starters, yeah.” Although he wasn’t necessarily referring to all the material possessions it will take to make Flynn feel comfortable, that would certainly be quite a bit as well.

 

“It is of no consequence,” Voldemort declares, easily. Harry eyes him critically. The dark lord merely raises a brow. “My manor has over twenty bedrooms and four floors. I dare say you could stuff this entire apartment building into a suitcase and it would barely take up enough space to fill the east wing.”

 

Harry blinks. Then he looks away sheepishly. “Oh.” He probably should have expected that. 

 

The dark lord makes a vague gesture. “Pack what you like.”

 

Harry nods with a relieved smile. “Okay— it shouldn’t take too long.”

 

The dark lord merely nods, as Harry heads down the hall to duck into the little boy’s room. It’s not a particularly large flat, so the distance isn’t far enough to ensure complete privacy. He feels out of his element once more; he always feels caught left-footed whenever Harry is concerned—  the child even more so. Unsure in a way he never feels in any other part of his life. 

 

At any rate, he waits patiently as Harry reminds Flynn that they really can’t bring  _ everything _ , so no he cannot bring every single one of his teddy bears. And especially not that big one. Flynn is disagreeable to the idea of leaving any of his precious stuffed animals behind; Tom can tell when Harry decides it’s a losing battle and just ends up packing them all. 

 

He sighs. The snake joins him in commiseration, winding over his feet. Contrary to whatever Harry thinks, this  _ is  _ going to take a long time. 

 

//

 

“Hey mum,” Flynn starts, after Harry’s finally gotten him to pull a coat over his jumper.

 

“Hmm?” Harry answers, distracted with buttoning up the boy’s coat. 

 

“Who is that man?” He asks, in the naive and innocent tone only a child could manage. 

 

Harry freezes, eyes widening.

 

“He came for Christmas, didn’t he?” Flynn continues, oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle. 

 

Miraculously, Flynn hadn’t asked who the mysterious man who stayed over on Christmas eve was. After Voldemort left, he was too distracted by his presents, and then by his cousins and family at the Burrow, and more presents. And after that he was preoccupied with his birthday party, and then saying goodbye to all his muggle pre-school friends at the end of the school year. At that point Harry had just assumed he’d forgotten, and counted his blessings.

 

Harry had assumed he was in the clear.

 

No such luck.

 

Harry was painfully aware that the man in question was just outside the open bedroom door— undoubtedly able to hear all of this. Shit. He sucked in a sharp breath, struggling to come up with an adequate response.

 

But what was he supposed to say?

 

That man is your father? Despite being the truth, Harry felt as if that was the last thing he should say right now. Flynn hadn’t asked about his other parent ever since he started pre-school, and met a lot of other kids who also came from single-family homes. Harry had never felt more thankful for the UK’s divorce rate as he had the moment Flynn had announced that his new best friend Luke only had one parent, and so did a lot of the other kids. The boy seemed to have come to the conclusion that single-parent homes were as normal as two-parent ones. Harry knew the subject would return eventually; sooner or later Flynn would realize that babies came from  _ two _ people, and that this would inevitably mean he had two parents, and one was just missing. Right now he still believed a very benevolent stork went around giving babies to people who asked nicely. 

 

What else was he supposed to say, though? How the hell was he supposed to describe his relationship with Voldemort to a small child? They weren’t friends— the idea was so laughable that he actually snorted at the very thought. They were more than acquaintances, though. And they definitely weren’t strangers. They were enemies, really, with a very complex and complicated relationship. And a child. That too. 

 

“Um… um….” Harry croaked out, thinking fast. Flynn was still looking at him expectantly. “Do you remember that movie we watched the other day?” 

 

Flynn appears to think deeply on this. 

 

“The Disney one we watched with Victorie?“ Harry adds, furiously hoping that Flynn does. 

 

Flynn tilts his head, still thinking. 

 

Finally a look of recognition crosses his face. “The one with the singing candlestick and tea cups?”

 

Harry lets out a relieved breath, counting his blessings. He nods readily. “Yes, that one.” He pauses, mentally cringing, “Well, he’s the Prince.”

 

Flynn considers this deeply, frowning slightly. Then he looks up. “So does that mean Mum is Belle?” He asks, tilting his head. 

 

“Err— well, yes. I guess it does.” Harry scratches his cheek. He supposes the analogy makes enough sense, considering the circumstances.

 

Flynn beams. “Oh. Okay!” He seems amenable enough to the idea— he takes it at face value, at least. “Mum is a Disney princess!”

 

_ Well I wouldn’t go that far _ , Harry thinks, amused. Even if he does look great in a dress. 

 

Harry sighs in relief, all the tension leaving his shoulders with the danger over. Flynn jumps around, Turtle in hand, once again bereaving loudly over the fact he’s only allowed to take five of his most trusted stuffed animals. Harry watches him with a sober expression; one of these days, he’s going to have to answer that question seriously. He can’t brush it off with a fairytale analogy every time— sooner or later Flynn is going to want to know more.

 

Harry looks out the open bedroom door, to the hallway beyond. He supposes his answer will really depend on the dark lord. 

 

He hadn’t been surprised when he hadn’t heard from the man after Christmas. That amount of emotion was probably too much for the man to handle all at once, so Harry had assumed he would need a while to sort it all out. Eight months was a little long, though. He frowns slightly at the thought. 

 

He hadn’t known what to think, when the dark lord did not return.

 

He wasn’t surprised at all with the idea of the man not returning at all. He’d resigned himself to that fact a very long time ago. And after so much time had passed, he’d assumed his suspicions were correct. 

 

But then, why was he here now? 

 

“Mum, I can’t choose.” Flynn whines. “Why can’t I take them all?”

 

Harry would love to protest that there’s not enough space where they’re going, but that is a heinous lie. Really he just doesn’t want to be any bigger of an inconvenience than he already is, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible during their stay. That’s probably a lost cause though, considering he doesn’t know how long their tenure in the dark lord’s manor will be. Flynn might be okay in a new place with Turtle and Harry and Apples by his side, but only for a little while. And he wants this transition to be as painless and seamless as possible for the boy.

 

“Okay, okay.” Harry rubs his temples. “Why don’t you pack your toys, and I’ll pack your clothes?”

 

“All of them?” Flynn brightens. 

 

Harry eyes the room critically. Then he just lets out a defeated sigh, pulling out his wand. Flynn grows excited at the sight of it, always delighted at the idea of magic. 

 

With a couple waves of his wand he charms all the contents of the room to march themselves into the open luggage. It’s a bottomless bag, so they have no trouble fitting. Meanwhile, as Flynn’s attention is fixated on all his floating toys, Harry sets about packing up his clothes. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone, so he packs at least two weeks worth of outfits. Afterwards he waves his wand again, this time towards the bathroom. He’s sure Voldemort has endless amenities at his disposal, but Harry knows better than to travel without Flynn’s soap. It seems silly, but the familiar scents of his baby shampoo and bubble bath go a long way in making him comfortable. 

 

With that out of the way he takes one last look around the room, before moving onto his own. All he really needs to bring is clothes, so the process is far quicker.

 

By the end of it Harry feels as if they packed the whole house. He casts a featherweight charm on the bag, before shrinking it to fit in his pocket. Flynn watches with big, enamored eyes— he wants to hold the shrunken bag himself, but Harry doesn’t trust that for a minute. The boy will lose it in a matter of minutes. 

 

Voldemort is still waiting patiently for them in the living room, Apples already around his shoulders, set for travel. 

 

It occurs to Harry then that they’re going to be… living together. At least for a little while. Harry can very vividly remember the last time they lived together— the good and the bad. 

 

“Are you all set?” Tom asks quietly. 

 

Harry nods, averting his gaze with a slight flush, burying the memories. It's not the same anymore. He's a different person now, no longer a young and defenseless boy. He checks to make sure the shrunken luggage is still in his pocket, taking one last look around the apartment. Flynn tugs at his jumper; he leans down to haul the boy into his arms, figuring it’s far easier to apparate if he’s holding him.

 

He spares a worried glance towards the dark lord. “We’re apparating?” He confirms.

 

Tom raises a brow. “Is that a problem?”

 

He looks down at Flynn with a hesitant look. He’s never apparated with the boy— mainly because he doesn’t really trust himself to do so. He’s fine by himself, and he’s apparated with Hermione once or twice, but Molly had said it’s more difficult with small children, not to mention it’s not good for them to do it often. Harry could see how basically rearranging yourself to teleport to an entirely different location could be detrimental to someone still growing. 

 

“Ah— I’ve never apparated with him before,” Harry confesses. “I’ve been a little too worried to try.”

 

Voldemort looks at him consideringly, frowning. Apparating would certainly be the easiest and most straightforward way to get to his manor. They certainly couldn’t walk. “The floo, then?” Although that would be a hassle in and of itself, seeing as though they would have to go to either the Ministry or Diagon Alley to get access to the network.

 

Harry shakes his head. He pulls Flynn tighter against him; the boy makes a slight noise of protest, but otherwise doesn’t seem to mind. “No, it’s fine.” He says, mildly. “I trust you.”

 

The dark lord is probably a thousand times better at apparating than he’ll ever be, so he has no doubt the man will get them all there in one piece, snake and all. 

 

Harry doesn’t look up to catch the dark lord’s expression. Even if he had, he most likely wouldn’t know how to read it, but he was too busy trying to hide his furious blush as the dark lord wrapped a secure arm around his waist.

 

It’s only because we’re apparating, he thinks to himself. As far as gestures go it’s innocuous and completely innocent, so Harry feels a little foolish when he leans in closer, resting his forehead against the man’s shoulder. If he closes his eyes briefly and let’s his imagination run away with him for a moment, no one has to know. It’s a little too easy to pretend, with Flynn tucked between them and a strong and steady arm wrapped around him. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Their travel is over far too soon. 

 

There’s a tiny moment where he keeps his arm around the young man, before he reluctantly lets him go. He feels a bit  _ too _ content, holding Harry against him like that, so if he holds on for just a second longer, it’s only just for a moment. 

 

And then Harry is stepping away, putting distance between them again. His attention is focused on the little boy in his arms, his expression worried.

 

“Are you okay, Flynn?” He asks, concerned. 

 

The child looks out of sorts for a moment, before nodding. “I think so.”

 

As far as apparition went, that was the best experience Harry has ever had, but that was Flynn’s first time and Harry can imagine it was nothing short of unpleasant. 

 

He gently lets the boy down to stand on his own two feet; Flynn clings to his legs for a moment, before his curiosity gets the better of him and he starts to peer around.

 

“Wow!” He exclaims, breathless, when he catches sight of something behind Harry. Harry turns around to see what he’s looking at. “It’s a  _ castle _ !”

 

_ That’s not even remotely an exaggeration,  _ Harry thinks, exasperated. Why the hell does one person need that much space? Voldemort wasn’t kidding about the size. 

 

Before Harry can even think to call him back, Flynn in sprinting towards it at full voltage, clearly excited to explore his own personal fairytale castle. 

 

The boy is young still, so even if he was able to feel the oppressive magic of the manor’s wards he wouldn’t be able to recognize it. Harry can, though, and he can feel them all the way from here, some distance away from the gates. There’s a seemingly straight path right to the front, gates wide open; but no wizard would ever think it was that simple, not when the wards were so powerful Harry could feel it burning against his skin. 

 

Flynn might be a wizard, but he’s only been in the magical world for a few months now— so of course he bounds right up the paved pathway.

 

“Flynn!” Harry calls in alarm, watching in horror as the boy approaches the gates at full speed.

 

But Flynn passes right through them with ease, stopping abruptly at the sound of Harry’s voice. He skids to a halt, turning around curiously to stare at Harry with confused eyes from the other side of the wards. He looks perfectly fine, and not at all as if he passed what were most likely— knowing Voldemort— the deadliest and most powerful wards in existence. “Mummy? What is it?” He tilts his head innocently. 

 

Harry blinks, stunned for a moment before he manages to swallow his parental instincts and think clearly. 

 

The strongest wards were blood wards; blood was the basis for just about every powerful enchantment in existence, and wards were no exception. The impressive barriers that most likely guard Malfoy Manor, or even the ones that guarded Privet Drive, were all based in blood. Of course Voldemort’s would be the same. 

 

So it was really no surprise that Flynn could pass right through him, since he and Voldemort were related by blood.

 

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.” 

 

Perhaps Flynn’s naivety is a blessing in disguise; if he had known about blood wards, he would have realized that his passage could only signify a blood relation.

 

By that logic, Harry would also have no issue crossing. It was Harry’s blood that was currently flowing through the dark lord’s veins, after all. With that thought he followed the boy past the gates, layers and layers of mighty wards parting for him like water as he crossed. Flynn was bouncing slightly in excitement, beaming up at Harry. 

 

“Cookies!” He exclaims, tugging at Harry’s sleeve.

 

Harry laughs. This kid really has a one track mind. “How about we get inside first, huh?”

 

The boy nods reluctantly. 

 

Tom follows them up the pathway after a moment, turning around to cast a few spells around the perimeter that Harry doesn’t recognize. Flynn appears wary at first, ducking close to Harry when he feels a strong push of magic wash over them, but after a few moments he peeks out from behind him to watch the man with amazement. The wards ripple with color as the dark lord waves his wand in front of them, revealing the intricate, invisible barrier of runes that safeguard the manor. Finally he finishes his enchantments, and after one last wave of brilliant color, they once more fade away.

 

“Anyone who approaches the property will have ample opportunity to turn back around,” he announces, as he approaches them. “If they’re still foolish enough to ignore the warnings, that is their own folly.”

 

Harry shakes his head— whether in fondness or exasperation, he doesn’t really know. He supposes it’s something of a nice gesture that Voldemort even bothered to put up warnings for trespassers at all, but he could only imagine what would happen to anyone who decided to try and trespass anyway. Evisceration, most likely. Maybe even electrocution. Either way he was sure they would end up dead. 

 

That’s really not something Harry should find so endearing.

 

The mansion is even grander on the inside than the outside - something Harry hadn’t thought possible. The entry room is so cavernous that Flynn actually draws close enough to Harry to hold his hand, staring up at the vaulted, gilded ceiling as if he expects demons to come crawling out of it. 

 

“It doesn’t look like a spaceship,” he says with dismay.

 

Harry laughs. “And thank Merlin for that.” He would really prefer not to spend a few weeks in a hovel that looked anything like the Millennium Falcon.

 

A small army of house elves are waiting to greet them, scaring Flynn even more. Harry realizes too late that Flynn has never seen a house elf before— and certainly not so many of them all at once. Flynn hasn’t even really seen a magical creature before, if one discounts the Weasley’s rabid garden gnomes. 

 

He hides behind Harry’s legs, peeking out with wide eyes once the house elves say hello. Voldemort is quick to shoo them off, probably very conscious of Harry’s warning about Flynn being easily overwhelmed. And if there’s one thing Harry can say about this house, it’s that it’s incredibly overwhelming. It’s all so… grand. It’s very befitting of the dark lord, of course, but as they walk down baroque halls with fine, aureate statues and statement pieces Harry can’t help but wonder how in Merlin’s name Voldemort lives here. Upon closer inspection, it becomes obvious that the dark lord really doesn’t live here; the vast majority of this house is unused. If it wasn’t for the fastidious house elves, it would probably be covered in dust. Instead, everything is well-polished and perfectly in place, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the whole place just seemed very big and empty.

 

Harry holds Flynn’s hand as they take a turn into what he assumes is Voldemort’s private wing. He glances down at the boy quickly, surveying his mood. His eyes are very big, and his mouth is pursed in a fine line; more than likely he is fascinated by such splendor, but also fearful and uncertain about staying in such a big, foreign place. Still though, it occurs to Harry that there could have been a reality where Flynn grew up in these ornate halls. 

 

Harry can’t really picture it. He can’t see himself or Flynn ever living in a place like this, feeling comfortable and at home with all the marble statues, sprawling embroidered tapestries, crystal chandeliers and high-arched windows.

 

The dark lord’s chambers don’t appear to be any more used than the rest of the estate. Harry wonders if the man is a workaholic; then he shakes his head. What is he saying, Voldemort is  _ absolutely  _ a workaholic. He’s too ambitious to be anything else. He probably spends a total of six or seven hours here a day, at most, before returning to the office. 

 

They come to a halt after passing through a large seating area. Voldemort gestures to a set of doors down the hall.

 

“These are all bedrooms,” he reveals. “Pick whichever you like.”

 

Flynn stares down the hall blankly. Harry takes this as a sign to haul the child back into his arms, rubbing a comforting hand against his back. “Come on Flynn, don’t you want to pick a room?” He asks, with an encouraging smile. 

 

Flynn’s response is to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder, making a noise that could have meant anything. 

 

Harry treks down the hall, intent on finding a room for the both of them regardless. He’d known from the start that there was no way Flynn would sleep in his own room. He doesn’t like new places, and he likes sleeping in them even  _ less _ . It took Harry ages to agree to a sleepover with Flynn’s preschool friend Luke, and then when he finally agreed to it Luke’s mother called by nightfall to say Flynn wanted to come home. He was still fairly young, so perhaps he’s just at that age. Luke’s mother certainly didn’t seem surprised by the behavior— if anything she was quite understanding. 

 

Alternatively, it could be a residual fear of abandonment stemming from such a solitary childhood. It was just Harry and Flynn after all, occasional pets notwithstanding, so Harry was all he’s ever really known. It would make sense he would be scared to lose it. 

 

“What do you think of this one?” Harry presses gently, walking into the room and pointing to the windows. “Look! You can see all the gardens outside, just like the park at home.” 

 

It’s nice enough, with a bed big enough for the two of them and a large, ensuite bathroom with a bathtub. 

 

Flynn nods, looking uneager. 

 

“So let’s leave our stuff here for now, so we can make those cookies.” Harry suggests, brushing Flynn’s unruly hair out of his eyes. It might be as fine and soft as feathers, but it’s Potter hair through and through— untidy curls and all. 

 

“...Okay.” Flynn finally agrees. “What about Apples?”

 

“Apples is probably sleepy; so we should leave him here for now.” Harry turns back towards the open door. “ _ Apples? _ ”

 

“ _ Yes, I am here. _ ” The snake proclaims with a dramatic sigh. He looks at Harry with a pained expression. 

 

Harry stares at the creature darkly. Apples has one job in life, and they both know what it is— namely, keeping Flynn happy and occupied. He lets Flynn down so the snake can do just that. He blinks slitted eyes around the room, before sighing and slithering his way over towards the child. 

 

“ _ I approve of this room _ .” The snake announces, as he winds his body around Flynn.  _ “But now you must find an adequate nesting place for me, little human. _ ”

 

Flynn giggles. “ _ A table to hide under? _ ”

 

“ _ Perhaps. _ ” The snake replies noncommittally, glancing at Harry over Flynn’s shoulder with an unhappy look. Harry spares the snake a grateful smile, relieved to have Flynn distracted for a moment. As an added bonus, exploring the room with Apples will hopefully make Flynn feel a bit more comfortable in it. 

 

“Okay, well while you guys do that I’m going to get out the cookies.” He calls over his shoulder, pleased to see Flynn barely hears him, already peering under the bed with his snake in tow, excitedly asking the reptile if there are monsters underneath. 

 

Harry lets out a long breath, feeling alleviated. Well, he’d known this would be a stressful endeavor no matter what he tried, and all things considered it’s going fairly well so far.

 

He meets Voldemort’s gaze as he walks back into the main room, unshrinking the suitcase to find all the stuff they had bought earlier from the grocer. 

 

The dark lord actually looks… worried. “Is he alright?” He asks, voice low.

 

Harry looks up at him with something like surprise. “He’ll be okay,” he assures the man. “He just needs a bit of time to adjust.”

 

Honestly Harry isn’t sure who he’s trying to reassure here, because even Harry doesn’t hold much surety in that. With Flynn it could really go either way. He might come to enjoy staying here a lot, or he could feel miserable and scared the whole time. He finds the untouched grocery bag easily enough, hauling it out of its hiding spot between a pair of Flynn’s tiny shoes and a sad-eyed teddy bear. He grabs the bear as well; having Turtle around will probably only help things along. 

 

When he straightens up he’s surprised to find that pensive look still fixed curiously upon the dark lord’s features. Harry blinks, wondering if the man is feeling more than he lets on right now. He usually doesn’t even bother to attempt to read Voldemort’s expressions, but he wishes more than anything that he could read it now. 

 

“Are  _ you _ okay?” Harry asks, carefully.

 

The man doesn’t answer. “What is wrong?” He returns instead, his gaze still fixed down the hallway, towards the open bedroom Flynn is currently exploring. Then he turns to Harry, looking perhaps a bit panicked. “Does he not like it?”

 

“It’s not really about that,” Harry is quick to reassure him, “it’s just a lot of new things all at once. I’m sure he’ll like this place a lot, after he’s gotten familiar with it.”

 

Voldemort is staring at him blankly, in a way that means he acknowledges what Harry’s saying but doesn’t really understand the point of it. 

 

“Like I said earlier, young children are wary of staying— and especially sleeping— in new places. It’s nothing new.” Harry adds. “He should be fine. It might take him a bit to get used to it, but he’s not alone.” 

 

“I see,” the man says, unreadable. “So he needs to be comfortable?”

 

Harry has to wonder what’s really going on in his head. He looks pensive, but that’s all Harry can read. He looks down at Harry, and then at the bear Harry is holding in his hands. Harry looks down as well, smiling crookedly. “Don’t worry, he’ll have everything he needs to feel right at home,” Harry replies, dismissively.

 

Voldemort looks slightly skeptical. “What else does he need?” He has Harry, his snake, and his bear after all. 

 

Harry merely sends him an unimpressed look. He points to the bottomless bag at his feet. “Oh, a lot.” Harry returns drily, finding a bit of humor in the situation. “Let’s see what’s in here…”

 

“Teddy bears, stuffed bunny rabbits— basically every stuffed animal he’s ever owned,” Harry levitates them out and sends them off to find their new places in the room as he rattles them off; “All his baby soaps, and laundry detergent— because things like smells are very important in making sure he feels like he’s somewhere safe and familiar. His clothes, of course, because those are familiar to him as well. Blankets and pillows for the same reason. Don’t even get me started on his socks. Or the bathtime toys. Let’s see, what else…” Harry peers down into the cavernous pits of the bag, as all the objects fly out of it in a chaotic symphony.

 

“Oh, all his favorite snacks.” Harry doesn’t know where those will go, so he places them all on a coffee table nearby. They are all brightly colored in cute packaging. “Because I’m assuming you don’t have children’s food here.” That would be an accurate assumption. 

 

There’s giggling from across the hall, and then Flynn comes out of the room with an exhilarated expression, looking positively enchanted as all his belongings float over his head one by one.

 

His eyes drift back down to them, and then immediately to the bear in Harry’s hands. “Turtle!” He cries with delight, running over. 

 

Harry surrenders the bear with little fanfare; Flynn squeezes the life out of it, before his attention is diverted once again, this time to the grocery bag.  

 

“Are we making cookies now?” He asks, excited. 

 

He smiles down at his son. “Sure. Maybe we should find a kitchen first, though?” He ends, with a glance up at the dark lord. 

 

The man nods. “I will show you the way.” 

 

//

 

The afternoon has descended into evening without incident, and Harry cannot be any more relieved. It’s still early yet, but it’ll be time for a bath and bedtime soon enough, and then Harry can finally consider this day over. Harry should know by now not to underestimate the difficulties of bath time, but for the moment he’s impressed they managed to bake cookies and eat dinner without any significant meltdowns. And now instead of running around like a small tornado, as he usually does when exposed to too much sugar, he’s quietly playing with his toys, as Harry and Voldemort lounge by the fire. It’s surprisingly peaceful, the quiet more calming than it is disconcerting. Voldemort is reading some work related files and Harry is enjoying his tea, and there is no young child jumping all over the place with an excessive amount of energy. It’s really the best he could hope for and when it came to parenting, he takes whatever he can get. 

 

That being said he really ought to get started on that. He usually has a plan to lure Flynn into the bathtub by this point— usually using Apples or his bath toys as bait— but the boy is playing with his toys across the room with an expression that means he’ll throw a tantrum if he’s disturbed, and Harry isn’t sure how he’s going to get the boy away from it. Harry squints at his building toys; he’s not making a Death Star, is he? Maybe if he goes over there and entices the boy to play jedi vs. sith, he’ll have an opportunity to knock the whole thing over in pretense of saving the galaxy, and then they can continue the rest of their space adventure in the bath. Maybe he’ll say they’re going to a water planet. That might work.

 

Harry is too busy coming up with a convoluted scheme to entice Flynn into the bath that he completely misses Voldemort’s look as he gets up from his chair.

 

“Where are you going?” Voldemort announces.

 

Harry blinks at him, confused and jolted out of his thoughts. “To… bed?” He asks, as if it should be obvious.

 

Those crimson eyes darken considerably. “You will share my bed tonight.” He commands. 

 

Harry is not in the least bit fazed, rolling his eyes. “Well, after such a romantic proposition it sounds tempting,” he snorts, before shaking his head. “But I can’t.”

 

The dark lord’s displeasure is readily apparent in his features. Harry can’t help but feel a spark of apprehension at the sight; he hasn’t forgotten who he’s dealing with here. He, above all others, knows exactly what it’s like to be on the unforgiving side of that rage. 

 

He stands to his full height in one fluid motion, making Harry even more apprehensive. 

 

“No, really, I can’t.” He glances at Flynn across the room, playing with his blocks by the fireplace, mercifully too far to hear their conversation. “He has trouble sleeping on his own as it is; getting him to sleep on his own in a place he doesn’t know is a lost cause.”

 

“Then he will sleep with us.” Voldemort decides, immediately. 

 

Harry stares at him blankly. 

 

Does this man have no sense of boundaries? Granted the event has happened before, but that was different. That was spur of the moment; he hadn’t expected Flynn to have a nightmare, and at that point it wasn’t as if he could just kick Tom out of bed just because he didn’t know how to explain him to Flynn. 

 

Unfortunately he still doesn’t know how to explain Tom’s relation to him. 

 

It would be a completely different story if they were a regular family— in fact, according to the other preschool parents it’s a given that children Flynn’s age will still sleep with their parents fairly often— but they’re not normal, so it’s pointless to even compare. 

 

‘That’s…” Harry blinks rapidly, at a loss for words. 

 

It’s clear there are far more issues at hand here than just sleeping arrangements. 

 

Harry had held out a futile hope that he might be able to get through this whole stay without having to have this kind of conversation, but honestly this was inevitable. Really he was surprised they even managed to stave it off for the last few hours. 

 

He pulls his wand out, quickly casting a muffling charm, just in case. This is one conversation he really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to chance Flynn overhearing. 

 

He pockets his wand again, leaning against the arm of the chair he had just vacated, crossing his arms. “Okay, I think it’s pretty clear we have some things we need to address.” He begins, privately impressed by how level he manages to keep his voice. 

 

Voldemort narrows his eyes, but appears willing to hold this conversation. “Such as?”

 

Harry gestures vaguely towards Flynn. “I don’t mind sleeping with you, if I haven’t made my feelings clear enough.” He says, staring at the man with a deeply honest look. “But Flynn is… a different story.”

 

Voldemort mimics him, folding his arms as he sits gracefully on the arm of his chair. “And why is that?”

 

Harry tries very hard not to get frustrated; Voldemort is not intentionally being obtuse. More than likely he truly is just this ignorant to how people, family, and intimate relationships work. 

 

“He’s at an age where he’ll understand what it means when two people sleep in the same bed. He’ll ask questions.” Harry explains, patiently. “And whatever the answers will be— that should be decided by both of us.”

 

The dark lord is quiet for a moment, expression thoughtful. 

 

“If you want to avoid that scenario entirely, then it’s best if we keep some distance between us,” Harry continues, after a moment. “Otherwise, we both need to be on the same page here.” 

 

“What answers are we supposed to come up with?”

 

“Well, that will depend on you.” Harry says, inscrutably. “He’s going to ask who you are— he already has, indirectly. How you want me to answer that is your decision.” 

 

Voldemort’s expression is equally as impassive. “And what answer do you want me to say?” He asks, stoically.

 

Harry studies him deeply, trying to get a read on him. Finally he gives it up as a lesson in futility, giving a defeated sigh. “Are you asking me if I want to tell Flynn you’re his father?” He asks, frankly.

 

He decides there’s no point in avoiding the subject; not when it’s clear Harry has to be direct as possible with the man. 

 

The dark lord’s expression is as emotionless as ever. But Harry has come to realize the more emotionless the man appears outwardly the more emotional he is inwardly; what exactly he's feeling though is anyone's guess.

 

“It’s really not as simple as that. I’d like to tell him, yes, but at the same time if you have no intention to actually  _ be _ his father, then I don’t want him to know.” Harry manages to say with composure. They’ve had a lot of tough conversations in the past; he wonders if this is perhaps the most difficult of them all. It certainly feels like it. 

 

Telling Voldemort he loved him was infinitely easier than giving him a blatant ultimatum like this, even if it had to be said. But Harry is being deadly serious; he doesn’t want Flynn to grow up knowing exactly who is father is, and knowing that the man doesn’t really want anything to do with him. It’s one thing to know in the abstract, to know his father as an absent, ambiguous presence; it’s a whole other story to know  _ exactly  _ who left him. At the same time though, if Tom is willing to try, Harry will never get in the way of that. 

 

Harry meets the man’s gaze with an unguarded look. “I’m not pressuring you; your decisions are your own. But if you’re unsure, even slightly, then we shouldn’t tell him. I can’t do that to him.”

 

The dark lord says nothing, his gaze flickering towards the child in question, blissfully playing with his toys in total ignorance of the heavy conversation across the room. 

 

Voldemort does not know what to say.

 

He knows his answer is undoubtedly yes, but he’s not entirely sure why. Is it because he feels possessive over the child, in the same way he feels possessive over Harry? Is it because the mere idea of someone else taking his place as the boy’s father causes his blood to boil? Or does he really want to attempt this, simply because he wants to? 

 

“How do you intend to tell him?” He asks, quietly.

 

Harry blinks, before his look turns a bit sheepish. “I… haven’t really figured that out yet.” He confesses.

 

Voldemort merely looks contemplative.

 

Harry swallows with difficulty, clearing his throat. “So— then… does this mean you want to do this?”

 

“Yes.” The dark lord answers without hesitation, surprising him. 

 

Harry blinks rapidly. “Okay then. Right. Well, sleeping arrangements notwithstanding, we still haven't even gotten to bath time yet.”

 

The dark lord stares at him blankly, clearly never having heard of ‘bath time’. 

 

Oh Merlin, Harry thinks. This will be an interesting experience. 

 

.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting around for a while so I figured I may as well upload it. Don't take it too seriously - I write these little spin-offs/AUs mainly as writing exercises, so the quality is lacking and they're usually somewhat rushed. And unfinished. Super unfinished


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